American Quidditch
by puiwaihin
Summary: Harry Potter goes to an American Wizarding sports event with his two boys, and who should he bump into? None other than Draco Malfoy and Scorpius. How will these two former Hogwarts Quidditch players respond to the Americanized version of the sport?
1. Part 1

**Author's Note:** "Harry Potter" and all associated characters are the intellectual property of JK Rowling. All ideas and characters taken from that world are the intellectual property of JK Rowling and her publishers. This is a work of fanfiction, published under the Creative Commons Attribution No-derivatives Non-Commercial license.

**American Quidditch**

Harry walked through the crowd, staring up at the massive stadium which towered up above them just a few hundred yards away. It was an awe-inspiring sight, certainly equal to the great Quidditch stadiums of the premier professional leagues in Britain. Perhaps this would be worthy even of hosting the Quidditch World Cup, if the exterior of the structure was anything to judge by. Then he noticed the odd, triangular shaped goals that towered up above even the outer walls of the stadium and shook his head.

Americans and their strange ideas.

Harry looked down at his two sons, Albus Severus and James Potter II, and gave them the warm smile that he was now known for the wizarding world over. "Well, boys, what do you think?" he asked them.

"Oh, dad, this is great!" Albus exclaimed excitedly, dashing around the tall stalks of corn that surrounded both them and the stadium with an excited grin on his face. "It's just like Grandma and Grandpa's place, but with a giant stadium!" Albus was enjoying every moment of this trip. He didn't often get to go with his dad on his international missions.

"Why did they put a Quidditch pitch like this out here, anyway, dad?" the older son asked inquisitively. "It's out in the middle of a cornfield."

Harry clasped James' shoulder in a fatherly fashion. "Well, for one, it is pretty far from any Muggle cities. It's easy enough to disillusion the stadium from any passing cars and put up Muggle repelling charms around the area to keep out any strays. But why exactly here, I can't really say."

"Perhaps I can help you out there, Ambassador Potter," a warm voice said from behind them, back the direction of the apparition point where they had arrived just moments earlier. The man quickly came up and shook Harry's hand. "I'm Bruce Russell, from the US Department of Magic's International Relations Division."

"A pleasure," Harry said as he took the man's hand.

"Please, follow me," Bruce said, gesturing towards the stadium. Bruce was a tall man, half a foot taller than Harry, with pale blue eyes and sandy blond hair. He was dressed in a modest suit and wearing a yellow tie that had witches and wizards riding around on brooms flying about for its pattern. The man had a sort of affable smile and casual way of walking and talking that immediately set Harry at ease. After all the stifling formality of British wizarding culture and official governmental protocol, his casual style was a breath of fresh air. Harry got quite enough of formality back home, and even more when abroad on official business.

Bruce gestured to the stadium and surrounding land. "This place began as a cornfield, until sometime in the 1980s when the field owner, one of the latently magical, had something of a vision and turned the place into a baseball field." Bruce saw Albus's confusion and added, "Baseball is a non-magic game similar to cricket." Albus nodded. He had seen a bit of cricket before among the Muggle children.

As the group walked through the cornfield towards the stadium, Bruce continued to give the history of the site. "It turned out that the field owner was unknowingly in contact with a phantom—in fact an entire group of phantoms. The baseball field eventually became a sort of magical focus, drawing the attention of magical beings from all over the area. Once the field was completed it attracted the magically attuned from miles and miles around."

"Excuse me, sir," James interrupted, "but why would a phantom want someone to build a baseball field?"

At this point, Harry stepped in, "To fulfill their purpose in life. You see, a phantom is like a ghost. Some people even call them a sub-type of ghost. But unlike Nearly-Headless Nick or the Bloody Baron, phantoms remain invisible to normal sight unless they find someone whose purpose is tuned to theirs. Most phantoms then try to persuade or trick that person into fulfilling their purpose. Of course some just come right out and directly ask for help, which sounds like what happened here."

"Great way of explaining it, Ambassador," Bruce acknowledged with a nod. "These phantoms were all latent magical folk in America who had a connection to the game of baseball in some way or another. In order for them to fulfill their purpose and cross-over, they needed a chance to play together. The only way to do that would be to gather enough of them that they would be strong enough to manifest physically and to do that they would need a magical location to anchor them.

"Of course, when the government became aware of this, we had to step in. We couldn't afford another visible gathering of magic like that. We have enough trouble with Roswell and Area 51 as it is." Bruce shook his head wearily. "So we warded the place, detained and debriefed all the latent magicals who had no previous knowledge of the magical world, and then repurposed the field for Quidditch."

"Interesting story, that, Mr. Russell," Harry said. "I'm looking forward to seeing how you Americans have managed to balls-up the wizarding world's favorite pastime."

Bruce chuckled. "Well, that's why we're here. Glad you could make it out on your busy schedule. Or 'shedule' as you Brits say it."

Harry grinned back, thinking of some of the boys back at the Ministry he knew who actually did say it that way, and the four began making their way through the corn towards the stadium. As they got closer, they noticed a steady stream of spectators weaving through the rows of corn, laughing and yelling as they got closer to the stadium. Harry and his sons got their first look at typical American witches and wizards and were surprised by their appearance. They looked almost nothing like wizards in Britain. There were no robes or pointed hats. Instead, there were T-shirts, blue jeans, and tennis shoes. If Harry hadn't known the place was warded against non-magicals, he would have thought them all Muggles.

"You mustn't gawk at the riff-raff, Scorpius," a callous voice called just a little too loudly. "Now come along. We have our place in the VIP box to get to and I want to spend as little time among these…Americans….as I can."

Harry shook his head, a faint smile turning his lips. "Draco Malfoy," he muttered to himself.

Sure enough, the familiar platinum blond aristocrat and his son, whose hair matched his own, came into a view a few steps further. A series of emotions crossed Draco's face as soon as he came face to face with the Potters. First there was annoyance and dislike, which quickly gave way to regret, and was followed by a false smile and acknowledgment. It all flashed by in but an instant, but Harry missed none of it.

"Ah, Ambassador Potter," Draco said, stressing the title a bit. "I didn't realize that they had invited you to this event."

Harry had similar mixed feelings about the former Death Eater before him, though he had gotten past their childhood rivalry-for the most part. Draco had a lot to make up for, but his actions since the end of the war had been honorable. Harry's smile was genuine, though not exactly warm, as he took Draco's gloved hand. He respected Draco for who he had become, despite the aristocrat still holding onto many of his old prejudices. Harry's children, however, were openly glaring at Scorpius, and the blond was returning the look with interest.

Draco had dressed himself in a fine wizard's coat, trimmed with white and silver along the front, and a thick cloak, black as coal, trailing behind him. Scorpius was dressed similarly, but without the fancy trim or cloak. It was much different to Harry, James, and Albus, who had dressed in semi-casual Muggle clothing. Where Harry and his children fit in more or less, The Malfoys showed a stark contrast with the casual clothes worn by the locals.

"Draco, Scorpius," Harry nodded as he took the man's hand then shook the hand of the younger Malfoy in turn, "A bit of a surprise to see you out here in 'the Americas'," he said, affecting a faux posh accent and eliciting a chuckle from Russell.

Draco nodded back. "Scorpius and I are along to meet with one of the sponsors of the event. The Blackstone Company. I'm sure you've heard of them, one of the most prestigious of old American magical families. We are looking at a little international trade deal," he drawled, doing his best to seem to not be making a big deal out of it, despite that clearly being his intention.

"Well, good luck with that then," Harry answered amiably. "Draco, this is Mr. Bruce Russell, with the United States government. He's the equivalent of our Ministry's Head of the Department of International Cooperation."

Bruce and Draco shook hands. "A pleasure, Mr. Malfoy. Your first time at an American Quidditch Match?" At Draco's nod, Bruce flashed him a smile. "Well, then I hope you enjoy it. It's Ambassador Potter's-Harry's-first exposure to it, too. We'll probably see you in the box along with the Blackstones," Bruce said with a smile as they reached the entry gates and the long line to get in.

Draco and Scorpius took their leave and pushed their way through to the front of the line that had formed. The sound of jeers about the way Draco and Scorpius dressed and catcalls followed the two purebloods as they ignored the line and went straight to the entrance. Draco snarled at them and lashed out with his own insults.

Bruce flashed a badge and a uniformed security guard quickly escorted Harry and his boys up to the gate, past the Malfoys and the screening checkpoint. They arrived just in time to hear the exchange between the Malfoys and a large, female security guard who was roughly feeling up the blond haired man's breast coat pocket.

"Now see here!" Draco exclaimed, "I am a Malfoy and a guest of the Blackstones! You will not lay a hand on me, you filthy woman!"

"What did you just say?" the woman asked in an angry tone. "I don't work for the Blackstones, whoever you are. Rule is that we inspect everyone who comes through these gates for dark objects and curses, and that includes pompous, overdressed punks like you. Now spread your arms out before I break something you don't want broken!"

"Outrageous!" Draco frothed as he was frisked by the woman.

"See you inside, Scorpius," James said with a smirk as they were waved through without an inspection. As they went through, Harry's oldest son mouthed the words "diplomatic privilege" and gave a cocky wave to his blond schoolmate who was scowling back in the line, waiting his turn to be humiliated.

"James, don't be rude," Harry admonished his son, though he could certainly understand the boy's sentiment. It was nice to see the Malfoys being treated as if they were "common" and watch others get special treatment. Nonetheless, he didn't want his son to act like a Malfoy, even if only towards an actual Malfoy.

"Sorry about the treatment of your countrymen, Ambassador Potter. We're a bit paranoid about security at events like this," Bruce apologized.

"Call me Harry," Harry replied. "And I understand the need for security. We had quite a scare ourselves at the Quidditch World Cup while I was still in school during the war. I'm sure Draco will be fine. His pride can stand for a bit of a ruffling."

The trip up through the stands afforded the group a good view of the pitch. The interior of the stadium was favorably comparable to what he had seen at various Quidditch World Cup events and at the professional Quidditch matches he had seen. It had seating that rose up high into the air, staggered to allow spectators to have a great view of the pitch. The stairways and aisles were spacious, and cleverly spelled decorations flashed and moved all along the stands. But Harry found himself staring open-mouthed at one of the chief differences between the American Quidditch field and the standard Quidditch pitch played internationally.

"You have nets!" he exclaimed.

Mr. Russell gave Harry a puzzled look. "Of course," he replied, "in case someone falls from a broom. Not that we rely on just the nets, Ambassador, we also have placed cushioning charms on the surface. Trust me, it is quite safe. We rarely ever have a serious injury. Why? Not quite up to British standards? What do you use back 'across the pond'?"

Harry muttered something to himself, then skillfully changed the subject. He would be looking into making sure that nets and cushioning charms would be installed on British pitches the minute he got back to London. And Hogwarts would be putting them up before James, Albus, or little Lily would be playing so much as a practice game.

When Mr. Russell and the Potters arrived in the box they were immediately greeted by a number of bowing men dressed in fancy tuxedos. "Mister Russell, sir, Mr. Potter," one of them said. "I am Nate. If there is anything you need, do not hesitate to ask."

"Thank you, Nate," Bruce said with a smile. "Some Faery Fizz for the youngsters and I think a Salem Scotch for the ambassador and me."

The servers left with something of a bow, which Harry found a little odd considering what he knew of American Wizarding culture. The Americas did not hold with the same class stratification as the British and French, considering bowing and other shows of subservience to be distasteful. The owning of house elves was strictly illegal here, as was any form of slavery; the former colonies had quite the aversion to anything that reminded them of that particular stain on their history. Moreover, Harry was coming to realize that American wizards were much closer to their Muggle counterparts both socially and culturally than Europeans.

The VIP box, however, was closer to what Harry was accustomed to among British wizards. This magically expanded space was luxuriously appointed, a series of rounded alcoves covered in embroidered cushions. The walls and floors were a shining crystal and the room was lit with magically bright candlelight. More importantly, the wizards and witches were dressed in the more eccentric wizarding style that Harry had come to associate with the magical world.

"Ambassador Potter, let me introduce you to what could be considered the cream of American aristocracy," Bruce said, as the various witches and wizards rose to greet them. "This lovely lady is one of the premier witches of America, Ms Wanda Wessley of the San Diego Wessleys." The witch, dressed in a deep red colored formal robe took Harry's hand.

"And with her are Mr. Jonathan Copperfield of New York and Mr. David Faust of Chicago, two of our most illustrious wizards." Harry took their hands and exchanged pleasantries.

"This is Mr. Oscar Diggs, Mr. Rob Jackson, and Miss Anna Taz." The latter was a witch wearing a top hat and a very revealing performers outfit who flashed Harry a very mischievous smile.

Continuing down the line, Harry was next introduced to a stunning blond haired witch named Samantha Stephens and her Muggle husband. The Russo and Spellman families were next in line, followed by the Blackstones, Balthazar Blake, and the Presscotts. Harry spent a minute speaking with Mr. Blackstone, feeling him out on his intentions with the Malfoys.

The door opened to the outside, momentarily letting the sound of the now raucous stadium fill the box. "And these are Ambassador Potter's countrymen, Mr. Draco Malfoy and his son, Scorpius. A very distinguished family in Magical Britain." Father and son made their way into the room, a somewhat harried, and put upon look on the elder Malfoy's face. Bruce Russell gave a charming smile as he included the late coming Brits, for which Draco gave a grateful incline of his head.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy," Blackstone said with a smile. "Glad you could make it."


	2. Part 2

**Part 2**

The door opened to the outside, momentarily letting the sound of the now raucous stadium fill the box. "And these are Ambassador Potter's countrymen, Mr. Draco Malfoy and his son, Scorpius. A very distinguished family in Magical Britain." Father and son made their way into the room, a somewhat harried, and put upon look on the elder Malfoy's face. Bruce Russell gave a charming smile as he included the late coming Brits, for which Draco gave a grateful incline of his head.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy," Blackstone said with a smile. "Glad you could make it."

"Of course, Mr. Blackstone," Draco said with a sycophantic smile plastered on his face. For all his efforts, Draco had never managed to emulate his father's effortless duplicity. "It's an absolute pleasure to be here in this wonderful country."

"After your generosity during my trip to the Quidditch World Cup," Mr. Blackstone said with a genuine sincerity, Harry noted, that Malfoy utterly lacked, "I'm glad I have the chance to return the favor. Give you a taste of the real America, not just the corporate side."

"Oh, I wouldn't miss it," Draco said. "And it is a wonderful opportunity for my Scorpius to see how the rest of the world lives."

"Yes," Mr. Blackstone said with an easy smile, patting the younger Malfoy on the shoulder. "I understand he has some talent for your International Quidditch, a reserve player on one of the school teams?" At a nod from Draco, Mr. Blackstone turned to face Draco directly. "And if I recall, you were a member of your house team starting from your second year?"

At that, Draco smiled genuinely. "Yes, I played Seeker for Slytherin. I was moderately talented," he said with obvious false modesty.

"Is that so?" Russell asked, curiosity evident in his tone of voice. "Well that must mean you played with Harry, here. I understand Mr. Potter also played Seeker from a young age."

The smile on Draco's face faltered for a second, but quickly returned. "Indeed, we were two of the youngest members to make our house teams," Malfoy responded.

"Marvelous!" Mrs. Blackstone, a pretty witch with seaweed green hair, exclaimed with a clap of her hands. "Ambassador Potter, I would love it if you and your boys would join the Malfoys and I in our seats. I imagine your perspectives on the game will be very enlightening."

Scorpius, James, and Albus wore identical incredulous looks. Draco's smile went from slightly forced, to rigid plastic. Harry just grinned. This was an opportunity he was not about to pass up.

"It would be my pleasure, Mrs. Blackstone. But please, just call me Harry."

"Very well then, Harry. Please join us." Mr. Blackstone gestured for the Potters and Mr. Russell to sit with them. "You know, 'Harry' is also the name of several of my most famous forbearers."

"Seems to be something of a name for great wizards," Bruce remarked.

Harry blushed slightly, while Albus and James looked up at their father in pride.

And then whatever enchantment that was keeping the noise from outside from the VIP box suddenly allowed some of that sound inside, and the intensity of the crowd's excitement permeated the room. Harry, James, and Albus had just settled into their seats when the roar of the crowd became deafening, accompanying a series of pyrotechnics igniting in the middle of the pitch, as the opposing teams swarmed down in a complicated swirl from where they had been practicing with the triangular goals up atop the stadium. The two teams dived down, one dressed in a bright green with gold trimmed lines and the other clad in royal purple lined in midnight black.

"**Wizards and witches**!" the voice of an announcer boomed across the stadium, the effect Harry recognized as a variation of the sonorous charm. "**Welcome to tonight's National Quidditch League premiere event, the—**_**the Boston Shamrocks**_** vs. **_**The New Orleans Viziers**_!"

James looked up at his father, "Um, Dad, don't they mean 'American Quidditch League'?"

Before Harry could answer, Scorpius beat him to the punch. "Of course not, _Potter_. We're in America. They just call it Quidditch, here."

"Then what do they call real Quidditch?" James shot back.

Seeing the young Malfoy at a loss for an answer, Bruce Russell gave a chuckle. "Here we refer to it as International Quidditch, much like the Chinese refer to Chinese Chess as just 'chess', and what most people call just 'chess' they call international chess."

While this bit of bickering went on, the announcer was calling out the names of the players for each team, which Mr. Blackstone kindly pointed out was how 'sides' were referred to in the Americas. Harry smiled graciously at Blackstone's well-intentioned patronizing. He noticed the exceptionally loud cheering for several of the players and rued the fact that he had not studied up on the game or any of the exceptional players. Hermione would not have been pleased with him had she known this. Not being familiar with the American game and its stars might actually be a disadvantage for him in his diplomatic role, so he determined to pay close attention during the match and learn as much as he could.

To the surprise of the Potters and the Malfoys, just before the start of the match the two teams descended to the field and hovered their brooms in front of them as the officials inspected them in turn. Even more surprising, the two teams began donning what appeared to be armor for their chests and backs, as well as protectors that covered their entire arms and legs.

"What is this, a game of Quidditch, or a fancy dress party?" Draco scoffed as he stood up to get a better view. "Honestly, I never expected _Americans _to coddle their players so. Padding on every part of their bodies? Nets on the ground? Are they afraid they might bruise their little pinky fingers or something?"

Harry frowned, noting the sour looks on the face of their hosts. Draco Malfoy was never the diplomatic sort, nor had he ever perfected the more refined manner of insulting others of his father. Worse, he was oblivious to his own faults, seeming to fully expect everyone present to share the opinion that Draco's barbs were clever and witty. He was still the same loud, obnoxious glory seeking boy from his childhood.

"Why, when I played Quidditch for Slytherin," Draco continued, his back towards the others seated behind him, "players would take a blow from a Bludger and play right on, broken bones and all. When _we _fell off _our_ brooms, there was no spider web to catch us, that's for sure."

"Yes," Harry cut in. "I can now fondly recall having all the bones vanished from my arm after taking a Bludger to it, and needing to spend weeks in the school infirmary after crashing to the ground at high speeds three, or was it four times?" Harry chuckled, lightening the mood.

"Yes," Mr. Blackstone agreed, "International Quidditch is certainly a rough sport, no question about that." His smile back in place, he stood and patted Draco on the back. "I must applaud your courage and fortitude. And Mr. Potter's." There was a twinkle in his eye as he said this, though. "But I think you'll find our American Quidditch to have its own share of roughness to it. Perhaps by the end of the match you'll be questioning whether the padding provided by the players is really sufficient."

"Mr. Blackstone," Harry asked, "why are they giving beaters bats to all of the players?"

And that was exactly what was happening down on the field. With the exception of one player from each team, each was given what looked like a small club similar in shape to a Quidditch beater's bat. But now that he asked the question, he could see that there were some differences.

"Ah, seems you missed that part of the introductions," Bruce said with a smile. "In American Quidditch there are only three positions: Seeker, Guard—what you would call Keeper, and Winger. Seeker and Guard you are familiar with, while Wingers are a combination of the Chaser and Beater positions in International Quidditch. During play, Wingers on the team with possession of the Quaffle are called Attackers while those on the team that does not have it are called Defenders."

"If everyone is given a beater bat to carry, then how do they hold the Quaffle?" Scorpius asked.

"They don't," Mr. Blackstone answered with a touch of amusement.

"But…then how—" Albus began, a look of consternation on his face.

"_Magic_," Bruce and Mr. Blackstone answered in unison.

With the brooms inspected and the official equipment issued, the opposing teams lined up on opposite ends of the field. A pair of referees, robed in distinctive gold uniforms, took up positions on each side, while a third prepared to release the Quidditch balls at the center of the field. Just before the game started, there was a sudden flare of magic and a shimmering, transparent wall of blue shot up along the sides of the stands, forming a barrier between the crowd and the playing area.

"**And the match begins!"** the announcer called out.

The visiting Brits didn't have time to enquire about the wall of blue before there was the sound like a cannon shot accompanied by a sudden roar from the crowd. A small, Quaffle-shaped object shot straight up into the air, while a pair of Bludgers fired off at steep angles in opposite directions out over the field. As one, the teams shot up from the ground on their brooms, and to the surprise of both the Potters and the Malfoys, the players raised their "beaters bats" up towards the rapidly ascending Quaffle.

"_ACCIO!" "ACCIO!" "ACCIO!" "DEPULSO!" "ACCIO!" "ACCIO!"_ the shouts rang out in near unison, loud enough that the sound carried all the way to the stands.

Harry watched in amazement as the Quaffle seemed to wobble in mid-air for a second before suddenly veering off to the side, roughly in the direction of one of the Vizier's Wingers. The violet robed witch quickly ascended and matched the trajectory of the ball before raising her arm and flicking her bat backwards, sending the Quaffle flying back towards her teammates just before one of the Shamrock players flew by where the ball had been heading.

Harry nodded his head in understanding. They were using summoning and banishing charms to control the Quaffle. Instead of a toss-up and an aerial dash to be the first to grab the ball in regular Quidditch, in American Quidditch first possession went to the team that managed to control the angle of ascent and get a player there first. The Viziers had gambled in having one of their players use the repelling charm rather than a summoning charm and had one of their Wingers prepared to fly in one direction to get the Quaffle before the other team could react.

"They're using wands?!" Scorpius said. "But, that's illegal! They can't do that!"

Mr. Blackstone chuckled. "Not at all, young Malfoy. In American Quidditch one must use a Quidditch wand, which we still call a bat, to manipulate the Quaffle. In fact, it would be illegal to intentionally handle it with any part of your body."

The Viziers quickly formed up into a Flying-V shape, with the Quaffle being controlled by the back two Wingers, who kept the Quaffle in constant motion with continual flicks of their Quidditch bats. The purple clad team was quickly met in the air by the furious arrival of their green robed opponents, and the V-quickly broke into two halves. The Quaffle was quickly passed between the attackers in a complex series of "tosses" and "grabs" that thoroughly baffled the defenders' attempts to knock the ball away from the team.

"**Barry manages to steal the Quaffle from Halliwell, but Halliwell knocks the Quaffle loose! The Viziers have it again and are back in formation!"** came the announcement.

"I guess simply hexing the other team's broom is a foul, right?" James asked as he strained to keep up with the Vizier's press towards the opposing team's goals.

"Definitely," Mr. Russell answered with a light chuckle. "Not that it hasn't been tried. But Quidditch bats can't be used that way, they're not like regular wands."

Harry's Seeker instincts kicked in and he turned his focus from his son's question to a streaking red ball, heading straight for the Vizier's team. The Bludger was coming in fast, and at an angle that was sure to disrupt their formation and make it easier for the opposing team to pick off the Quaffle. He braced himself mentally to for a massive impact, but at seemingly the last second, two of the attackers lifted their bats towards the Bludger and banished it away with synchronized wand movements. Instead of crashing into them, it was sent headlong straight for the nearest defender, who had to quickly swerve away in order not to be hit.

"**Rosenburg banishes the Quaffle towards Halliwell; Halliwell back to Rosenburg…oh, and Singh almost has it for the Shamrocks, but, a clever knock-away by Viziers Team Captain Juno Faust and Halliwell is set up for a shot—she beats Prince to score a goal! Ten points for New Orleans!"**

Harry looked down from his omnioculars with an impressed look on his face. From that distance there was no way to hear anything from the players, but he had seen Halliwell's lips form the words of banishing charm—the first time he had seen anyone vocalizing any of their summoners or banishers since the start of the game. The skill of these players to manipulate their pushes and pulls with such a high degree of finesse and precision was extraordinary. To do so at speeds like that and with such coordination took great concentration.

As the Boston Shamrocks regrouped behind their goal post and prepared for their run towards the New Orleans side, Harry had a chance to ask about the blue barrier. "That blue wall that went up around the stadium at the start of the game, what is it? Some kind of shield to protect the audience?" While it had been easy to see when it was initially raised, it was now difficult to make out unless he tried to reach out and detect it as if he were trying to find the boundaries of a ward.

Bruce Russell answered. "Not exactly. It's the out-of-bounds limit. The field won't stop anything from passing through, but a player who enters the field will be penalized."

"What if the Snitch goes outside the bounds?" James asked eagerly, "Can the Seeker chase it out there?"

"No, not even the Seekers are allowed outside the boundary. But, a Snitch won't try to pass through the barrier. They're charmed to detect magical fields and avoid them. Speaking of which, we're about to hit the two minute mark…"

"**And there go the Snitches!"** the announcer shouted as the crowd roared. Harry was on his feet, eyes darting in several different directions trying to follow several shimmering flashes streaking away from the center of the field.

"Snitch_es_?" Draco asked with some surprise. "As in more than one? How many are there?"

"Four," Harry answered as he soon lost sight of all but one of the elusive little balls. "But what do the different colors mean?"

This time it was Mrs. Blackstone who spoke up. "Well, there's the Silver Snitch, the Golden Snitch, and one Snitch for each team—in this case a Green Snitch and a Purple Snitch. The Silver Snitch is worth 70 points, the Golden Snitch 50 points, and each team Snitch 20 points."

"So, the game ends when all the Snitches are caught?" James guessed.

Mr. Blackstone shook his head. "Not in professional Quidditch—professional American Quidditch," he corrected himself. "At the varsity level, yes, that's how it works, but in the professional leagues it's a bit different."

While the conversation went on in the VIP booth, the action above the pitch continued at a breathtaking rate. The Shamrocks formed a spearhead, attempting to force their way through the Viziers defense. It looked like it was going to work, too, as the Shamrock team Captain leading the charge passed straight through the first two defenders who had to swerve to avoid a collision. But then a purple robed witch swung in from the side with her Quidditch bat held up high before bringing it sharply down with a shout of "_Fulmeni_!"

From straight above the approaching Vizier defender, one of the Bludgers descended like a rocket straight towards the Shamrock's formation. There was a difference, though, between this attack with a Bludger and Bludgers in regular Quidditch other than just the method of delivery. This Bludger was wreathed in crackling lightning.

The Shamrock attackers on the side where the Bludger was coming tried to raise their bats to ward off the incoming missile with banishers, but were far too late. At the last second, the team broke their formation, each flying off in a different direction to try to avoid the dangerous, electrified ball. One of them wasn't quite fast or lucky enough to avoid it. There was a sudden flash of blue and the player tumbled towards the ground.

"**A brilliant Bludger strike from rookie Becky Cheung disrupts the Shamrock advance and sends Vincent Strange down to the nets below! What amazing timing!"**

Harry caught the name of the Shamrock's player who had gone down and had to wonder if there was any relation between the American "Strange" family and the "Lestranges" of Britain. He had already noticed some connections between British and American wizarding families, such as the Princes, and he wondered how far such connections went. That was a question for later, however. Now he was enjoying the match and had important cultural knowledge to assimilate.

"**Another goal for New Orleans! Captain Juno Faust delivers this one to the central triangle this time, giving the Viziers a 25 to 0 lead!"**

"In the professional leagues a regulation game is three hours, or until the Golden Snitch is caught for the third time. After each catch of the Golden Snitch there's a restart," Mr. Blackstone continued. "The Silver Snitch can only be caught once, and after that it is out of play, but there is no stoppage of play when it is caught. The two team snitches—"

Blackstone didn't get a chance to complete the sentence. There was a sudden flurry of movement as the Seekers went into sudden action, drawing everyone's attention. The green robed Seeker suddenly shot through players, nimbly dodging a Bludger that had hastily been sent his way by one of the New Orleans Wingers. The purple wearing Seeker dived down as well on a trajectory to intercept.

"**Oh, it looks like young James Dresden has spotted the Shamrock Snitch! He barely avoids taking a Bludger, but stays on track."** The announcer called out the play rapidly as the action occurred. **"And now Walters has seen it too, and it's a race to see which of the two will get there first! And it's Dresden! Twenty points for the Boston Shamrocks, putting them on the board and within 5 points of New Orleans!"**

"Well, as you see, if a Seeker catches their own Team Snitch, they get twenty points for their team," Mr. Blackstone said.

"But what if you catch the other sides's Team Sntich?" Scorpius asked as he sucked on his Faery Fizz. "What then?"

"Then," Mrs. Blackstone chimed in, "neither team gets any points for the capture. But it doesn't matter who catches a Team Snitch, once it's caught it is out of play for twenty minutes; so if a Seeker can catch the other team's Snitch, they can prevent the other team from scoring."

"That Dresden boy is a skilled player," Harry said sincerely. "That was some clever flying to get to that Snitch through the opposing side's players like that."

"Yes," Russell agreed. "The Chicago Red Caps were real disappointed when he didn't sign locally and went to Boston."

The announcer continued to call the game as the spectators watched. **"And Shamrocks Captain Anthony Russo scores after a clever feint, giving Boston a five point lead. Shamrocks 30-Viziers 25."**

As the game wore on, Scorpius's expression took on a sour look. "What is the matter, Scorpius, not enjoying the match?" his father asked.

"It's not that," the young blond wizard said, "It's just that I was expecting the Quaffle to have blown up by now. But they don't even hold it, so how is it supposed to blow them up?"

"That's silly, Scorpius," James said. "Why would the Quaffle blow up?"

"James, don't be rude to Scorpius. I'm sure someone was just playing a prank on him and misinformed him about American Wizard sports," Harry said, admonishing his son.

That brought a chuckle from Russell and an amused look from the Blackstones. "Actually, Mr. Potter, the Malfoy boy is right. But he's thinking of Quodpot, America's other major wizard sport. Quodpot is somewhat similar to the Muggle sport of basketball while American Quidditch is more akin to Muggle football."

"You really do play a game where the Quaffle blows up?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Oh, come on, Potter, it's not much different than a game of Exploding Snap," Draco said, giving his old nemesis a superior smirk.

The match continued at a breakneck pace. Both sides did their best to use formations, but as often as not the Defenders would manage to break up an attack and there would be rapid scramble in the air to control the Quaffle. Harry found these to be the most exciting parts of the game, as the Wingers from both sides would summon the ball away from one another in rapid succession until one of them managed to gain enough control to break away. Then there would be a scramble as the Attackers sought to drive forward, usually trying to re-form into a coherent group while the Defenders sought to knock the Quaffle free once more.

After a good half hour of exciting play, it seemed clear that the Viziers had the advantage. The wizards and witches in purple robes were getting three shots on goal to the Shamrocks one and had built up a sixty point lead. If not for several impressive saves from Boston's Keeper, Amy Prince, the lead would have been even greater. Now Boston was maneuvering down along the left hand side of the field, trying to get one goal back.

That was when the Vizier's Seeker suddenly shot upwards into air.

"**Boston's Tersius Walters has seen something and is taking off across the pitch! The Vizier's Seeker is far below, out of the play!**" the announcer said.

"It's the Silver Snitch," Harry said, his eyes following both the New Orleans Seeker and the shimmering silver ball.

"And there's nothing the Shamrock's can do about it," Draco commented in a displeased tone. "There's no Winger close to that area."

Draco was right. It would have been a foul to send a Bludger directly at Seeker, the only position that did not have a Quidditch bat. To interfere with a Seeker's pursuit of a Snitch, a player needed to do so indirectly, either aiming a Bludger at an opposing Winger and "missing" or sending the Bludger into the general area of the Seeker and hope that it locked onto the Seeker on its own.

"**And a cleverly placed Bludger disrupts the Shamrock's advance! The Viziers have the Quaffle! Walters has the Silver Snitch in sight and is closing on it fast! With this New Orleans will take a—**"

A shrill whistle pierced the air and all players broke off what they were doing. The Silver Snitch sped away from the Vizier's Keeper.

"What happened?" Albus asked anxiously.

Harry Potter was laughing and clapping. "Oh, that was well played. That kid is really good."

"**It's James Dresden! The Shamrock's Seeker has caught the Golden Snitch! Boston pulls to within 10 and the game will be restarted!**" the announcer boomed across the stadium as the entire place went wild with cheers.

"Merlin, that was lucky!" James pouted. "Now the Slyther—I mean the Shamrock's are right back in the match."

Harry looked over at his son with a grin. No surprise that his sons had taken to rooting against the team in green while Scorpius and Draco were obviously pulling for them. "It wasn't luck, son. The Shamrock Seeker had probably found the Golden Snitch a few minutes ago and kept near it. He was waiting to give his team a chance to score, but with the other Seeker about to grab the Silver Snitch and his team losing the Quaffle, he went ahead and caught it."

"That was good strategy," Russell agreed.


End file.
